Rohan's Gold
by ziggy3
Summary: Meduseld. The roof shone golden in the sun. He had not appreciated it last time, only listened to Gimli's muttered observations that it didn't look much like a golden hall. Now he knew the gold here was not on the roof. Stars Legolas Aragorn Gimli Eowyn
1. Chapter 1

Not in the same story arc as Deeper.

Legolas/Eowyn.

Two chapters.

**BETA by the wonderful Anarithilien,** who spared me time for this even though busy with her own fabulously mysterious 'Dark Forest.' Go and read it if you haven't already.

**WARNING :**Rating T in first (although it isn't really even a T but I want to alert you to the warning in chapter 2). **M rating for second chapter Het erotic encounter**.

Disclaimer: Tolkien's –all his. Me just mucking up the storyline and characters..I have taken shocking liberties with both characters and the timeline in the interests of a tender little romance between Eowyn and Legolas.

**WARNINGS: Rohan's Gold - I am sorry to normal intelligent readers of fanfiction, but it has become necessary to write this warning. **

**If you are one of those very stupid people who go out of their way to find and read what they know they will be offended by, and then flame me because they have read something they will be offended by - Bring it on! I will not be bullied by some of those folk. I see it as my duty to expose them for the narrow minded idiots they are- like the ridiculous woman calling herself a number of things such as Legolas' Wife etc. There is also the idiotic Luthien who reads stuff just so she can be offended . If you are a writer who has been flamed by these idiots, fight back and write more, even more outrageously and flaunt it in their faces.**

**It is strange that I have only been flamed for Rohan's Gold, not anything else, by two very stupid people- see above. Both saying stuff like, Eowyn is Faramir's, and Legolas is mine...If you are one of those - Be Warned. You are too stupid to be reading this stuff. It is FanFiction. Duh. READ DISCLAIMERS in future!**

**Otherwise, please read and enjoy this.**

**Chapter One: Rohan's Gold**

Meduseld. It remained impossibly unscathed, though the rest of Rohan lay bruised and scarred by the battle at Helm's Deep and the skirmishes that surrounded it. Théoden's riders were returning home, the smell of horses and sweat of their riders, and the pounding hooves on the dusty road lay thickly upon them. Théoden's banner snapped and streamed in the wind.

Behind Legolas, Gimli leaned heavily against his back, breaths slow and deep. The dwarf had not spoken for a while now, except to ask if they were yet in sight of Edoras and Legolas guessed he dozed lightly.

A bay horse pulled up alongside him. Aragorn, dust on his boots and cloak and sweat beading on his skin. 'Legolas? Can you see - are we almost there?' he asked. Legolas said nothing but smiled. Shading his eyes with his long hand, he gazed ahead.

'Yes. I see Meduseld.'

Aragorn smiled wearily and rode alongside him for a while as they approached the hill upon which Meduseld lay.

The Golden Hall shone in the sun. Legolas had not appreciated it last time, only listened to Gimli's muttered observations that it didn't look much like a golden hall. But now he knew the gold here was not what was found on the roof, but deeper, in its heart.

He closed his eyes briefly and breathed in the clean air of the open steppe, remembering when first he looked up at the doors of Meduseld flung open wide to let in the wind, and saw _her_. Her white gown had billowed in the wind and flattened around her form, curving round her breasts and belly, her girdle about her hips, accentuating, drawing the eye. Proud and defiant she gazed across the steppe, her long golden hair streamed behind her. And she met his gaze and held him. He had stared then, and now hoarded the memory like treasure.

That had only been days ago but the memory warmed him, sustained him, and his blood thrilled at the thought of her again. Bright she was, like burnished steel, but he had no illusions. She gazed at Aragorn like he could feed her hunger and she did not see him standing behind.

Now as this day ended, they returned from Helm's Deep, triumphant. He looked for her on the steps to the Golden Hall but did not see her, so many faces crowded to greet their loved ones. The press of horses and bodies was almost too much, the smell of humanity, of blood pumping and sweat, and the muttering of the dwarf pressed to his back, which he could no longer ignore.

'Come Legolas. Let us dismount. I cannot feel my toes and I need the good earth beneath my feet.'

Arod had halted and stood patiently. A woman looked up and asked Legolas something but he did not understand and could only shake his head and shrug. She went to the next rider, asking the same anxious question, and the next.

Legolas held the dwarf's arm while he slid from the horse, for it was a long way down for a dwarf. Gimli stamped his feet and swung his arms.

And then he saw her.

She stood partway up the steps, poised mid-flight, her lips parted and eyes shining. She fled into her brother's arms and almost wept, almost. Legolas drank in the sight of her as she turned and spoke to Théoden, her eyes filled with joy and relief. He could not hear what she said and did not know the rolling speech of the Rohirrim.

She frowned slightly and turned to search the crowd, Legolas looked to try to catch her gaze but she had caught on something, someone else instead. She stopped. Her eyes fastened and her smile was warm, excited… elated. Her hand lifted the edge of her white gown from the dust and dirt, as she moved through the crowds, and stopped beside a bay horse. Looking up at the rider her face was filled with joy. Aragorn.

Legolas paused. He glanced at Aragorn and saw the hesitation, saw his hand reach down to her and then withdraw, saw the longing on the woman's face as she sought his gaze but it slid away. She put her hand on the shoulder of his horse, close to his knee and he had to look at her then. It seemed to Legolas that she leaned towards Aragorn even closer, even hungrier.

Legolas looked away. What did he expect? Really?

'Ach. Not good.' Gimli stroked his beard. He too watched the exchange.

'This will only end in a rockslide,' murmured the dwarf as Aragorn dismounted, his back to Eowyn and loosening the horse's girth.

The elf paused and then he too dismounted. Arod pushed his head against the elf where he stood looking back towards Aragorn. The man was close to Eowyn, his head bent slightly to listen to her words.

A strange, unfamiliar squeeze began in Legolas' chest and he wondered at this new sensation. He rubbed his hand over his chest and looked down. Dust on his boots. Sweat between his shoulder blades. There was still dried blood on his tunic where an orc had drawn a scimitar over his ribs and sliced through his tunic, his skin. Hardly presentable. And he admitted to himself that it hurt that she had barely noticed him; it was Aragorn whose face she gazed upon, Aragorn she offered the cup of wine to, Aragorn she followed now into the Great Hall. And, he was sure, it was Aragorn she had waited for.

He leaned against the cool stone, and closed his eyes briefly. He breathed in deeply, trying to clear his mind of golden hair and cool soft skin. In his chest, when he thought of her, there was pain. And when he thought how Aragorn's gaze slid away from her elusively, there was pain for her too. He shook his head. He was his father's son and no fool. He would not fade for an unrequited fancy. But he was drawn like a moth to the flame that was Mortality… it drew him on. Their brightness and vibrance burned him. And each moment he spent with them, he knew he burned a little more.

x

Gimli pushed wide the door of their small chamber, and saw the elf standing near the open window. The cold wind streamed through the room, flapping the curtains and lifting the covers on the beds, like an intrusive stranger.

'Home sweet home,' grimaced the dwarf ironically, sparing a glance at his tall companion. He was quiet and Gimli had not missed that look when Legolas saw the way Aragorn had greeted the Lady Eowyn. 'It is good to be off a horse and on my own two worthy feet.'

Gimli sighed and draped his cloak over one of the small pallet beds in the room. He unbuckled his belt and laid it carefully over a chair that stood in the corner, thinking about the look in her eyes, the look in Aragorn's eyes and the way Legolas had quickly averted his own gaze. It was complicated to be sure.

He unhitched the small throwing axes in the belt's loops and placed them carefully beside his axe. He took off the round helm and looked around the room for somewhere suitable, seeing nothing he put it under the chair. Then he lifted his chainmail and shrugged out of it. This he lay over the back of the chair. He unstrapped the gauntlets and greaves and then finally, with a sigh, he settled on the bed and took off his heavy steel capped boots.

Unbraiding his beard, he stroked his fingers thoughtfully through the silky fur and spread it out over his chest, then he did the same to his long wiry hair. Now he felt lighter, more at ease and glanced around the room for water to bathe his head, beard and hair. There was none, of course.

'Where can we bathe, Legolas?' he asked.

The elf turned towards Gimli, his green eyes were opaque and dream-filled. He seemed to abruptly shake himself and blinked slowly, his eyes cleared and he smiled. Gimli was relieved, the last thing he needed was a fretful elf on his hands.

Gimli had seen Legolas like this before, a lingering sense of quiet loss. He had been like this when they left Lothlorien. And when Boromir had been killed. Gimli decided he must be homesick, for it was long since they had had any reliable news of home. The Dúnedain had not delivered the news they had both hoped for and he too was a little heart sore. Secretly, Gimli stroked the small leather pouch at his throat where he kept his own precious gold.

Gimli happened to glance up and catch Legolas watching him with a slight smile on his lips. He hastily moved his hand from the pouch.

Legolas averted his eyes more tactfully than usual, Gimli thought, and said with a brightness Gimli thought a little forced, 'There are some bath houses I think, somewhere in Meduseld, but I am not sure where.'

Gimli looked at the elf from the corner of his eye. ' Come then, I need a bath and I need to be cleaned of orc blood and sweat and grime and … well, everything, I need to be clean. '

'Very well.' Abruptly Legolas strode over to the door and threw it open. 'Come then.'

Gimli shook his head exasperated. 'Why the hurry all of a sudden,' he grumbled. He was given a flash of teeth and a grin that did not have quite the usual exuberance.

They passed Aragorn in the corridor but Legolas barely paused in his stride, calling as he passed.' Come Aragorn, The dwarf needs a bath… And so do you.'

Gimli stopped, catching at Legolas' arm and pulling him to a halt. 'We will wait.'

Legolas faltered and rubbed his hand over his eyes and Gimli thought how tired he must be, that they all were. He pushed the elf slightly. 'Go. I will wait for Aragorn.' And he watched Legolas stride away, straight-backed, tall, strong. Long pale hair swept down his back.

Gimli wandered back to their shared room, wondering what he should say to Aragorn. He was uneasy about what he had seen between Eowyn and the Ranger. He had a softness for the girl. He could not blame her for her infatuation, but he could blame Aragorn for fostering it. He thought Legolas too was concerned for Eowyn, for he had spoken of her gently.

Aragorn had cast off his cloak and tunic and was turning to follow Gimli. He grinned at the dwarf and slapped him on the shoulder.

'Legolas is desperate to get there before we muddy that bathwater?' he joked.

Gimli smiled less convivially. 'Perhaps.'

'Let's make sure he is disappointed!' Aragorn's voice was tired too and he looked so vulnerable that Gimli did not have the heart to chide him either. Instead he allowed the man past him and to hurry out of the room and down the corridor.

Berating himself for his soft heart, Gimli turned more slowly and followed Aragorn from the room, passing the Great Hall and into a small passageway. They could hear voices and the air became steamy and warm. Gimli's skin tingled with the prospect of being immersed in hot water and lather. He frowned, he had missed his chance to speak with Aragorn but it just did not seem the time. Resolving to have it out with both of them later, he followed the man into the bath house.

x

A large man, his copper hair woven into two braids in the Rohirrim style, smiled and nodded at them. Waving them into the changing rooms he said something Gimli did not understand but Aragorn laughed tiredly and replied in the same language.

He bowed at Gimli and spoke haltingly 'Welcome, my lord Stanbealdres,' and waved them towards one of the rooms where steam drifted and curled lazily.

Aragorn looked at Gimli as they smiled and nodded their thanks. 'Do you know their name for you?'

Gimli looked up in surprise. 'Their name for me? I have heard them call me Stonefist and Ironfist.'

'Yes. Did you not just hear him say it? They call you Stana Bealdres. It means Stone Master, or Stone Lord-master.'

Gimli stoked his beard, mildly flattered and pleased.

To Gimli's surprise, the changing rooms to the baths were tiled with some sort of earth-brown clay tiles and there were channels in the floor for the over-spilling water to sluice out. Smooth wooden benches lined the wall, and pegs held a number of tunics and cloaks. Gimli felt a pleasure that things were so well ordered.

At the far end, hung a sueded moss-green tunic and fine white shirt. Leather boots had been shoved carelessly under the bench and a brown leather belt embossed with twisting oak leaves and vines had been flung over the tunic.

A guffaw of laughter sounded from within and steam drifted gently from one of the many doors. Aragorn grinned again at Gimli, unbuckling his wide leather belt and throwing it over Legolas' tunic. His boots already lay carelessly on the floor.

'I can already feel the dirt peeling off my skin!' he said, pulling his shirt over his head. He struggled out of his breeches and shoved them with his tunic that he had thrown onto the bench. 'I will have to ask Eomer for some clean clothes.'

Gimli grimaced. 'I am constantly surprised by the lack of hygiene of men,' he said. 'Boromir was just the same. And as for Gandalf! I can't imagine those new white robes staying clean very long.'

Gimli had turned his back and undressed carefully and modestly. He hooked a wide linen cloth that hung nearby which he wound carefully around his waist. He did not really approve of this lack of modesty from the man, and the elf was no better. And as for Hobbits…He turned, saw Aragorn stark naked, and gave a long suffering sigh.

They entered a large room lined with wooden benches where a number of men lounged in the steam. It was so close Gimli wondered if he could bear it but Aragorn seemed to relish it and breathed deeply. Gimli stood close to Aragorn and wished he were not quite so naked. Any of them. It was not seemly. He patted the linen towel round his waist as if worried it might come loose of its own accord.

One of the men sprawling on a bench nearest them called to Aragorn. '_Du gen asecan Glaedan Sigecempa?_'

To Gimli it sounded like '_dugan askan gleden siggy sempa_.'

The man smoothed his long gold-bronze hair over his broad shoulder.

Gimli frowned. 'Why can't they speak Westron like everyone else?' he muttered to Aragorn. Then he spoke loudly and slowly. ' We are looking for our friend,' he began loudly and slowly. He held his hand up to show Legolas' height and made a gesture like someone firing an arrow. The men looked puzzled.

Aragorn laughed and said, 'Gestaellan sy ofer wseterdelp?'

The other man, whom Gimli recognised as one of the Eomer's men, pointed away, further into the steam. Aragorn smiled and nodded his thanks.

'I suppose they have a name for the elf too.' Gimli said, following Aragorn deeper into the curling damp steam.

'I suppose they have.'

'And did they just use it?' he sniffed.

'Yes.' Aragorn tried not to smile, 'And they told me where he is.'

'And does their name for him mean 'Good–for-nothing-but-singing-to-trees? Or Glib Smug Simperer? That's what it sounded like anyway.' Gimli said, patting the linen cloth nervously and making sure it lay modestly over his flat stomach.

Aragorn glanced down at the linen towel and grinned, 'Not exactly'.

'Close enough though.' Gimli looked at him from the corner of his eye. The man laughed aloud then and the years and cares seemed to fall away.

'Close enough.'

The steam was denser here and Gimli inhaled deeply. There was the smell of mint and lavender, he thought, and some other scent, familiar, cedar and something else…it reminded him of the damp woods, where ferns grew by clear streams running cold over grey granite rocks.

He saw the tall elf then, one arm draped along the back of a wooden bench, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head tipped back against the wall and long pale hair clung to his skin.

A slit of green gleamed between his eyelids at their approach but he did not speak.

Aragorn threw himself beside his friend and sighed, letting his limbs unwind and stretched his back. Neither seemed at all concerned by their nakedness or their proximity to each other's nakedness.

'Ahhhhhh, that is better.' Aragorn ran his fingers through his tangled hair, drew in a deep breath. He looked at Gimli with amusement as the dwarf settled himself with the linen towel carefully over himself on an opposite bench. 'Are you quite comfortable over there, Gimli? You seem very far away,' he observed drily.

Legolas opened his long green eyes sleepily and gazed in that unflinching way he had. A smile teased about his lips. But Gimli was used to them both and took no notice.

'I am quite comfortable thank you.' Gimli said firmly, watching his two friends and comparing the long athletic body of one with the powerful muscular frame of the other. He felt a little sorry for them that neither of them had enough hair to be considered really handsome. Settling himself more comfortably on the wooden bench he stretched out his own legs, well shaped, beautifully muscled and stocky, he contemplated himself with satisfaction. Sweat trickled nicely between his shoulder blades and his hair and beard curled in the steam. He smoothed his hair back from his face so it lay sleek and damp around his strong skull, and he closed his eyes.

He awoke later without having been aware that he had drifted off. He cracked open one eye and saw Legolas, still seated but leaning over Aragorn, his hand hovering over Aragorn's heart. Long pale hair swept over his shoulder and clung to his damp skin. Aragorn's head was bent towards the elf's. Their faces were close, too close and Legolas's eyes were cast down, his long lashes over his cheek.

Gimli closed his eyes quickly, a little shocked and unsure what to do. He should have known this was bound to happen. So far from home, and in the aftermath of war when you want to grab at life with both hands, prove to yourself you are alive

Then he peered again and saw that Legolas cradled the pendant around Aragorn's neck, his eyes not on the Ranger but on the slender chain. He spoke quietly in his own tongue and he sounded sad. Aragorn lifted his hand to the elf's shoulder.

Gimli closed his eyes again relieved. He had never really thought anything else, he told himself. And he closed his eyes again, just for a moment… and drifted comfortably on the muted sound of their voices and the scent of cedar and something else. Camomile. Perhaps camomile, he thought.

x

Aragorn watched, amused, as Gimli was awoken by a sudden sensation of something sliding across his lap and started awake just in time to see Legolas had flicked away his linen and was balling it up to throw to Aragorn.

'Here! Give me that!' Gimli shouted and leapt up, then quickly sat down again, covering himself. Aragorn had no intention of getting between the elf and dwarf. Throwing an amused look at Legolas, who was still laughing, he grabbed the towel from the elf and threw it back towards Gimli. Gimli snatched it and bundled the linen round himself once more. The dwarf glared at Legolas who merely laughed. 'You two have no respect,' he told them sternly, 'I hope you can both behave yourselves tonight at this feast.'

His earth-brown eyes were serious though and both his tall companions paused.

'Do you have something to say, Gimli?' Aragorn inclined his head slightly, and his fine features were soft with concern and with some small trace of hurt.

The dwarf paused. Then he stood and placed his hand gently on Aragorn's arm. 'Be kind in your actions. These Rohirrim have a great love for heroes.'

'I am no hero,' Aragorn looked down at the dwarf's strong hand. Legolas frowned but said nothing. Aragorn continued quietly, 'But I know of whom you speak. I will be careful of her heart.'

'And yours too, my friend.'

Aragorn inclined his head, but he did not tell Gimli that Legolas had said the same in the steam room, albeit in more words and in a less direct way, for he was an elf. But the sentiment was the same; Arwen stood between them all, like a banner, like an emblem of his heritage and his promises.

'Come then, to the feast and let us forget ourselves in a cup of wine,' Gimli urged. He looked up at Legolas with a glint in his earth-brown eyes, 'I think Woodelves do not have the stamina to match a dwarf of the Iron Hills and Erebor.'

'Is that a challenge?' asked Legolas gamely, 'I will show you how the Woodelves celebrate.'

Gimli grinned widely and clapped the elf on the back but Aragorn was not fooled. He paused and his healer's eyes travelled up and down the elf with concern. Legolas did not flinch and Aragorn said nothing. He knew Legolas well enough by now not to interfere. But their conversation in the steam room lingered. He met Legolas's gaze but the elf glanced away quickly.

They had spoken of mortality and death; Arwen would die. Aragorn would die. And Gimli… Eowyn. They would all die. And Legolas would go on, forever, immortal and alone. Aragorn understood more than any how it was to live so close with those other than you. For Legolas was no longer as he was, and in the way that Aragorn himself had been touched by the elves, Legolas was touched by humanity and lured towards the bright flame of their mortality.

TBC

Reviews are really nice -reward your writer today. Don't be shy.

Translation

There is very little Rohirric I can find so I used Old English, which is what Tolkien used as a source. This is not a work of scholarship so I am happy for anyone to put this into the correct case/ tense etc. I have used only strong masculine forms of nouns and adjectives and mainly the nominative case as I can't remember my Latin grammar well enough (although I am sure it should be accusative). But any AS scholars, I would be really interested in getting in touch.

**'Du gen asecan Glaedan Sigecempa…'**

**Do you ask for/seek the Gilded Warrior-Hero?**

You can use Champion instead of Warrior-Hero and I thought the Rohirrim might well see Legolas as Aragorn's champion in the medieval sense.

**'…gestaellan sy ofer wseterdelp...'**

**'He can be found over there, in the place of steam? (Literally) **

**Or in context: 'Is he over there, in the steam room?'**


	2. Chapter 2: Ithil's Silver

**Rohan's Gold**

**Legolas/Eowyn**

Warning: Graphic and explicit sex – het. M – strong sexual content.

Disclaimer: Didn't happen in the book or film. None of it really mine. Only in my over-heated little mind.

AU. NOT CANON in any way. Eowyn is not inexperienced in this AU, but a woman very much in control of her own sexuality and wants- so anyone who likes their shield maidens icy cold will not approve of this. But you never know, you might enjoy it anyway.

For those of you who have read and enjoyed Deeper than Breathing, this is obviously different version and not part of the same story. That, however, is due for an update very soon… so if you enjoyed that and want more, a review might encourage me to write faster.

As always, many thanks to the wonderful Anarithilien for her sensitve betaing.

X

**Chapter Two: Ithil's Silver**

He had left Gimli at the door of the Great Hall, saying he needed air and space and stars and clear skies, not the fug of smoke and hot bodies. Gimli had grinned, determined to see his withdrawal for the drinking contest as a victory and Legolas had for once, allowed it. He walked away from the heat and noise of the feast and stood gazing outwards across the steppe.

He let the air slide over his senses, letting the moments pass without thought, let the wind run long cold fingers through his hair.

The green grass was silver now in the moonlight, rippling for miles and miles all the way from the foot of the mountains to the banks of the Anduin. Endlessly rippling under the wind, like the waves on the Long Lake and he felt a sudden pang of longing for home… But as sometimes had happened even at home, it was not the beeches and pines of the forest he wanted, but sunlight on the Long Lake……its blue-green depths…he had felt it briefly on the river, and the black metallic ripples at night had stirred something like a joyous melancholy in his heart. He recognised the same feeling now when he looked or dwelt upon the White Lady of Rohan.

Stars scattered like white jewels on the deep sky and he leaned back against the cool stone, listening to the sudden bursts of laughter and snatches of song that came from the hall. The Hobbits were singing and he smiled slightly, closing his eyes and bringing his breath slower, slower, closing his eyes, listening to those other sounds; the horses in the stables pulling hay and crunching their feed. A dog barked nearby and he heard the smaller sounds of mice; a moth fluttered towards the moonlight and then deeper, he breathed more slowly and star song chimed cold and bright.

He became aware of the presence of another but did not turn, did not open his eyes. He stilled completely and breathed in; the clean scent, fresh washed linen, lavender and camomile and then that indefinable scent that was only hers.

He could not speak.

He shook his head once, to clear his mind. He was old beyond her imagining, she a child of men. What was he thinking?

He opened his eyes and turned his head and caught the gleam of gold that lifted in the breeze, and her flushed skin. And then as if stunned, all his thoughts melted. He could not help himself.

'It is beautiful is it not?' She kept her gaze ahead, out across the endless grass of the steppes.

'There is much beauty in Rohan.'

They were silent for a moment. Then she said 'Why are you not at the feast? It is in your honour.'

He said nothing for a moment. 'The Dwarf will drink enough for both of us and the Hobbits enough for all of us.' A burst of song seemed to punctuate his words and there was a loud cheer from the hall.

'And the Lord Aragorn?'

Her question pierced him but he could not blame her. How could she not love Aragorn?

'Aragorn…has much to think on.' Legolas remembered the words they had spoken in the steam room where he had held the Evenstar as he would cradle Aragorn's heart. And he had heard love and desperation in his friend's voice.

'He has someone who loves him,' she said. But she did not sound as he expected. He glanced at her curiously. She continued, 'The pendant he wears. It was given him by a woman?'

'Yes.'

'Is she beautiful?'

'She is considered the fairest of our people.'

'Then she must be beautiful indeed. For your men folk are fairer than any I have seen.'

Legolas did not answer. This was not what he had expected. He had expected to hear pain in his voice. There was none.

'And is she good and wise?'

'So I am told by those who would know.'

'Good. I am glad. For he deserves to be loved.'

'She loves him enough to give up her immortality for him.'

'Oh.' She suddenly turned and looked at him. Her hand held to her mouth. 'How could he ask that? Does he not love her more than that?'

Legolas stared at her, confused. 'He does not ask it of her. It is hers to give. She is half-elven and can choose to live a mortal life or an immortal life. She has chosen mortal.'

She said nothing then, just gazed out into the huge night that stretched across the plains of Rohan. She seemed bathed in the silver moonlight, it gilded her skin and hair like some precious carving. She did not move or speak for a while.

Then she turned towards him and said, 'I have not thanked you yet. '

'Thanked me?' He struggled with the sudden change in the conversation. Nothing was as he expected.

'For fighting for us…with us.' She looked at him briefly and then turned back to the cold starlit night that was huge over the open grasslands. 'You are from the great woods of the north.' He was glad she did not call it Mirkwood. 'Is it beautiful?'

'Yes,' he said, thinking of the tall beeches and forest streams that gurgled over the granite rocks, of the banks of ferns and wildflowers and the great forests where he hunted with his folk and they danced and feasted and sang beneath the stars. He wondered what they were doing now, if those same glades were now battlefields and if halls of the Elvenking ran with blood…

'You are far from home.' Suddenly she was very close and her hand lay on his arm, 'Are you lonely?'

He looked down at her hand on the moss-green suede of his tunic, and then looked away again.

'Yes,' he said quietly.

'Then we are both in our way, exiles. Outsiders. '

And he thought briefly again on the words he had exchanged with Aragorn in the steamy heat of the bathing rooms. Aragorn had said she was cold, that she was but a girl in love with an idea. Legolas did not think so. He thought her fair and queenly.

'My troubles must seem so small to you. You must think me a fool for wishing to fight when I know so little of battle, of war,' she continued, unaware of his thoughts, his silent perusal of her. Although she turned her face away he could hear in her voice that there were tears. 'Will you say nothing? I am a fool. How could you think anything of me but that?'

'I do not think that,' he said simply.

She turned back to him then and her eyes shone with tears of humiliation and regret. 'What will you tell my uncle and brother? Will you tell the Lord Aragorn that I am a mere woman who should be made to stay at home? And Lord Gimli will think me a fool… and you…' She looked away, and he was able to gaze at her profile, her full lips parted, the flush of her skin and the gown that clung to her breasts and belly. He forgot to breathe for a moment and had to close his eyes briefly.

'No. I will not tell them that.' He took her hand in his then and looked into her eyes. 'I will tell them that you are a shield maiden of Rohan. And that you are as burnished steel.' He touched her face with his fingertips and breathed with her, wanting to know her, to listen to her song, slowing his breathing to hers. He looked down into her upturned face. 'I will tell the people of my home of the warrior queens of Rohan.'

Her long, long golden hair framed her beautiful face. Her eyes looked up at him, long lashes dark against her cheek and he saw a glimmer of tears. He reached his hand to her face and stopped a breath away from touching her. He wondered why she sought him out. Was it that Aragorn had rejected her attention? For Aragorn's heart belonged to Arwen as surely as his own heart was utterly lost in that moment.

Eowyn smiled at him. 'Why are you not at the feast?' she asked again.

'Why are not you?' he returned.

'I sought you,' she murmured. His heart squeezed again but this time, it was not unpleasant.

He looked up at the sky once more, hardly daring to think. Her fingers pushed back a stray tendril of his hair from his face. Her touch sent a shiver down his spine and he caught his breath.

'It was you before,' she told him. 'But you were so aloof, so strange. I did not think…'

Eowyn pulled him to face her then and he turned to her, wordless, thoughtless, breathless. He went to her simply and with nothing but desire for her. He stood against her, body pressed to hers and looked down on her –hardly daring to breathe in case, like a ghost of his dreams, she vanished and it was but an elven dream that seemed too real

She led him away, and he followed without care for what might follow, without thought, he forgot everything but followed her, through passageways that avoided the loud and noisy halls. She led him through a door that opened into a large chamber. He paused and looked about him before entering the room. Heavy curtains were held back from the open window and moonlight flooded in, silvering everything. There was luxury for a king's niece then. Tentatively he stepped within and stood in the moonlight as she approached.

X

Eowyn had led her woodland warrior to her chamber and he like a wild deer had stopped and paused, and almost she expected him to scent the air, to suddenly vanish. Instead he followed her willingly and his strange green eyes watched her with an almost predatory disbelief. She watched him for a while, his pale winter grass hair swept down his back, finer than most of the maids in Rohan she was sure.

She watched him step into the moonlight and become absolutely still. His hair silvered, his tall strong body almost quivering. She still had his hand in hers and she lifted it to her mouth and kissed his calloused fingers, let her tongue trail over his thumb.

Eowyn felt a surge of desire flood her from her stomach to her loins. Sudden passion took her and she saw this strong, impossibly beautiful warrior looking at her with the sweetest, most tender expression and she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. She pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth, seeking to fill him, to wrest his self control, she grasped the back of his neck and pulled his head towards her, pressing her lips against his; her hands swiftly undid the buckle of his belt and it clattered to the wooden floor. She tugged loose the clasps of his tunic and the laces of his shirt, all the while pushing her tongue around his, pulling him into her mouth as if she might swallow him. He wrestled his arms free from his clothes and threw his tunic, shirt on the floor, already he was kicking off his boots. Eowyn could feel his hardness pressing against her stomach and she smiled against his lips. Shield maiden she may be, but no maiden. Not in these times of war where life could be so short.

Suddenly she pushed him off and stood away, breathing hard. She held him back with one hand braced against his chest, shaking her head and revelling in the dismay on his fair face.

'I want to look at you.' she said.

'I want to look at you' he replied.

Eowyn stood away from him, so she stood in candlelight that cast a golden glow over her, and began to unlace her gown, watching him as she did so. He was like some hero from an ancient tale. In the moonlight, his long flaxen hair swept silver over his shoulder and back, the braids loose at the side of his strong, beautiful face. His torso was muscled and athletic. His shoulders broader than his hips, like any seasoned archer, muscles hard from years and years of battle beneath the leaves of his home. A recent scar lined his ribs and blood had seeped from it anew and dried on his skin. She traced the outline of his desire as it strained against the material of his breeches.

This Elf, this warrior stood barefoot, almost trembling before her, his strange green eyes fastened on her body and she let her white silk gown drop to her feet where it pooled. He was silver and she was gold. She held out her hand to him and he stepped toward her, trembling, almost quivering. She felt her power over him, her control over his barely restrained need.

She touched lightly the recent scar that lined his ribs and glanced up at him. He had fought for them, put himself at risk for her people. But even had he not, she would still have wanted him.

Kneeling slowly before him, Eowyn raised her face to him and ran her fingers lightly along the waistband of his breeches.

She watched him shudder.

'You torment me' he whispered, looking down at her where she still knelt.

'I want to enjoy you,' she told him, running her tongue over the skin of his belly. She felt the smoothness, a cool, different taste to her own skin, she smelt his musk.

Then she eased his breeches down a little way until she could see his navel, the lean hips and the beginning of the downy hair that marked her path. She ran her wet tongue down from his navel to where her fingers rested, feeling the hardness of him push and strain against their constraint. Glancing up from where she knelt, she saw his eyes heavy lidded with lust, his lips parted.

She felt him lean over her where she knelt, and sweep up the length and heaviness of her hair in one hand, cupping the back of her neck in the other. He leaned over her and kissed her on the mouth, plunging his tongue into her gasp. Her lips tingled.

Her breasts pushed against his thigh where she knelt before him. She felt his grasp on her hair tighten and he pulled her head back, breaking away from the kiss for a moment to stare at her, both of them gasping and breathing hard. He murmured something she could not understand and then smiled. His eyes were strange, she thought in the heat of the moment, the pupils grown huge, like a cat's, and the deep green of the iris seemed shot through with gold, she gazed and smiled at him.

He took a breath.

'You will undo me, Eowyn of the Mark. You will undo me before I have even time to draw breath.'

She smiled and lifted her hand to his lovely face, moved a tendril of long hair from his high cheekbones, stroked a dark brow and moved over his parted lips.

'Oh,' she said smiling wickedly, 'I haven't even started with you yet.'

It was as though he had not understood her at first, and he paused for a moment, staring at her. Then she saw his expression change from bewilderment to predatory lust.

'Nor I you!'

She felt herself suddenly swept up in his strong, muscled arms and thrown unceremoniously to the bed. Alarmed, excited, she watched him approach. He looked suddenly outlandish and strange, his smile wolfish and predatory and for a moment, she felt a little thrill of fear. He climbed onto the bed, already bulging and hardening.

His hand was next to her shoulder and he leaned over her, his other hand stroking her hair, her face, her lips. His hair fell forwards and she gasped at the unfamilar pointed ear.

He kissed her nose quickly and affectionately, then her mouth. She wanted to be the one in control again but he moved away and licked her neck, the ticklish places that had her giggling, and the sensitive places that had her gasping.

When she moved her fingers to her own sex, he pulled them away and pinned both hands above her head in his one hand. She felt his strength and wondered briefly what she was thinking, letting this alien warrior, this Elf who was so utterly different from any Man, into her room, into her bed… she wavered in her desire and he paused, as if sensing her trepidation.

He became utterly still, his body on hers, his sex burning against her thigh. His strange eyes penetrated her. 'We do not have to be so impatient,' he said gently, releasing her hands. 'We have a long night ahead of us.'

The Moon had moved and cast long shadows in the room; the night was still and silent outside. This elven warrior in her room, pressing against her, had paused. Stroking her skin, he closed his eyes, as if focused on the sensation of his fingers against her skin. She had time to look at him again, his long hair and perfect face, she knew this was no more than it was. She did not want it to be. Not for her Luthien and Beren, not for her watching herself grow old while her lover remained forever young, beautiful, strong. She would take what she wanted this one time, this one brief ecstasy and then treasure it forever.

She smiled and lifted her hand to his face and he met her gaze.

Laughing with him then, she trailed one hand down his chest, stroking lightly over his skin, barely brushing his nipples which were hard and tight with excitement. She pinched one gently and laughed softly again when she saw his eyelids flutter and his lips part. When he kissed her deeply, his free hand stroked over her breast, belly, thigh.

She raised her head to follow him as he moved away, but his finger was on her lips and he was smiling.

She laughed, shaking her head. 'Where do you go now master Elf?' She felt him move down her body, trailing light kisses down her neck, her breasts, kissing each nipple playfully, her belly. Resting on the curls between her thighs, he breathed deeply, scenting her like some wild creature. She rested her hand on his winter grass hair.

How could he be so beautiful? She had expected, when she heard an Elf had come to Edoras, an ethereal faery being, insubstantial and light, but Legolas was anything but. His was a very solid reality, he seemed so alive, vibrant. He seemed invincible. Eowyn wondered how many battles he had fought in his long life, wondered what he thought of their short battles, like skirmishes in the long, long fight against the shadow in his home…wondered if he had others who cared for him…

She glanced down at him and saw him looking up at her with a smile on his lips. 'Am I boring you?' he asked, 'You were somewhere else?'

'I was wondering how long you have been fighting the shadow,' she whispered.

His eyes were dark for a moment. Then he seemed to shake himself free of memories and buried himself in her. She felt his mouth on her body and gasped, twining her hands in his cool silk hair.

Eowyn felt she would melt; molten, fluid, she pooled in the sensation. His tongue flicked and licked, smoothed and sucked her to delight and she felt the pressure building in her and suddenly, she spasmed, arched and cried aloud his name. She felt him hold her closely and slowed, placing his hand over her sex, cupping her and warming her with his palm as she reached the edge of climax, but only the edge. She opened her eyes and stared at him, confused, frustrated and cheated and excited, watched him as he prowled her body, eyes fastened on hers and tongue trailing over her skin, her belly, her breasts, neck. And then he was over her, on her, between her thighs slick and wet with moistness. She felt again that thrill of his strangeness and otherness, and asked herself what she was doing but she was too far gone now and could not stop.

'Now we do this,' he said.

She saw the look of utter tenderness and that slow sweet smile. Her heart teetered on the brink of love.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth, lips crushing hers, his weight on her and she felt his hard length slide along her thigh. She reached down and guided him and he moved gently, gently, shuddering with each tiny movement. But she already trembled with the beginning of her climax again and wanted him plunged into her

'Come,' she invited, 'be mine completely'.

Blissfully she felt him push into her then and her flesh parted easily. She grasped at him, feeling herself tightening and losing herself in the physical, animal urging. She felt him driving deeper, her body arched, fingers scrabbled at his back. Her legs clamped round him and pulled him in deeper, to the hilt, welded together. She felt his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her nipples, sucking her throat, her lips, tongue, and she him. They moved together, frantically. Suddenly she went rigid and clasped him to herself. She gave a wordless cry and threw back her head, grappling with him, pulling him towards her and she felt him flow with her.

X

Awareness gradually returned to her and she opened her eyes to see he looked down at her, the sheen of sweat on his skin, face and throat. She kissed him gently. Smiled, moved a tendril of hair slick with sweat away from his face, felt his relaxed body against her, her own thighs and legs around his lean hard body still. He was heavy on her and she shifted so he leaned onto his arm, giving her room.

When he spoke he said, 'Thank you,' and stroked her cheek with his fingers. She blinked, surprised, for she felt he had been the one giving.

'Thank you,' she replied and smiled too.

She felt him shift again and he looked at her. Realising what he wanted she eased herself from his body, the linen sheets were twisted and wrinkled and she smoothed out the pillow a little.

He stood then and looked around the room. There was a small closet upon which stood a large, heavy jug and bowl and Eowyn watched him pour water and it seemed to her he was some young god, his body was muscled and lean, his long, long hair gleamed palely and his skin glowed with the exertion and sweat. When he told her she was beautiful, she blushed.

A small precious bottle of oil was on the shelf of the closet and she watched him uncork the bottle and poured a few drops onto the water. Kneeling before her, he placed the bowl on the floor, the scent of lavender and camomile stole over her. He dipped the cloth in the bowl, soaked it and began to wipe away the sweat on her face, he wiped her forehead and face, then her throat and chest. He lifted each arm and dipping the cloth into the water, wiped her arms and between her breasts.

She wondered that a man could be so tender, so intimate and loving yet not in love, for she had no illusions about this. He had given and she took what he gave.

Cool water tingled on her belly and he turned her over, wiping the cool cloth now over and down her back and flanks, over her buttocks and thighs and down over her legs. Together, the coolness of the water, the mingled scents of lavender, camomile and musk were heady and erotic. Hands caressing her body in this intimate washing away of passion left her strangely hungry for more and she knew she wanted him again, more than ever.

He lifted each foot, passing the cloth over her calves and feet. It tickled slightly and she giggled girlishly. He kissed each toe and then laughing with her, flipped her over quickly, pinning her on the bed.

'So unsatisfied! So demanding!' he murmured, leaning down over her and kissing her again.

'How do you know?' she demanded

He grinned, 'I can smell you…' he made it sound so erotic. She sighed into his shoulder.

Suddenly he tensed, looking up towards the door. He put a finger on her lips and sprang up, eyes fastened on the door.

'Someone comes,' he said, leaping from the rumpled bed and scrabbling for his boots.

'No!' she cried,' No –one will disturb me this late.'

He hesitated.

'It _is_ late,' she protested. 'Why would anyone seek me at this hour?'

He looked at her with his strange green eyes. The intensity made her shudder, and she wanted to be right. She felt her blood thrill at the memory of him plunged into her body, deeply lost in her.

'There are footsteps coming this way,' he said but less certain.

She held out her arms to him and he dropped his boots, joining her once more on the bed. 'It will be Eomer, on his way to bed,' she said, wanting to keep the sensation of his closeness, the electric thrill of touching him.

'He is very heavy footed.' Legolas observed.

'He has been in his cups.' She laughed softly

Suddenly there was a heavy knocking on her door. Both sat bolt upright and suddenly the Elf flew out of her bed again, grabbing his boots in one hand and scooping up his discarded clothes in another.

'No, no, don't go! Stay! I will send whoever it is away.'

'I dare not stay,' he whispered urgently, 'I will leave. Just let me…' He pushed one long muscled leg into the top of his breeches and hopped about on the other leg. He stumbled in a most unelvish way and Eowyn, stifling a giggle, held up her hand to her mouth as he crashed against the bed.

'Shhhh! They will hear you,' she whispered, her eyes bright with laughter.

He gave her an amused look and then gave up with his clothes, gathering everything up in one hand and standing in all his elven naked glory, he grinned and blew her a kiss.

She paused, lips parted and then he leapt onto the window sill and threw open the casement. She gasped in horror as he seemed to suddenly disappear from the window, melting into the darkness.

Quickly she dragged the bed sheet around her naked body and ran to the window, staring in horror at the night. She leaned further out and held back her long hair with one hand. Surely he had not…?

There was a whisper to her right and she looked along the wall to the next window ledge. Impossibly, her elven lover stood poised precariously on the narrow ledge. She gasped again and then heard the door to her chamber open. Legolas grinned at her- she could see his teeth flash white in the moonlight that lay like a veil on his naked skin, gilding him silver.

Hurriedly she pulled the window almost closed and left him like some strange bird perched on the window ledge. She heard him laugh softly as she rushed back to the bed. And she realised it did not matter. His amusement was like a promise. The maid who bustled in with water and soap and lavender would quickly be gone. Eowyn smiled at the maid and thanked her. She could be generous, knowing that they would laugh about this when the maid had gone. And then, her mouth watered, she could take him again to her bed, still warm from their bodies, and she could watch his strange eyes lose themselves in lust, twining her limbs with his, silver and gold. She watched a silver moth flutter around the golden flame of the candle, scorching its wings over and over until she brushed it gently away.

The End


End file.
